


The Promise of Rue Vavin

by quicksiluers



Category: Joyeux Noël | Merry Christmas (2005)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksiluers/pseuds/quicksiluers
Summary: Everything changed that Christmas Eve night in 1914. A bond formed and then they were scattered across the battlegrounds. The war wouldn't forget about them but they would fight like hell to get to the other side. To meet on Rue Vavin.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	1. 1914 - Christmas Eve & Christmas Day

**Author's Note:**

> Wow ok so this fandom is super small BUT I just recently watched this movie and fell in love with it. So this is the first part of a three-part story I have going on. So this first part is set during the movie and recounts some of the events in it and some I added for myself. I didn't realize I only wrote one section in Horstymayer's POV until I finished this? Which is odd cause he's my favorite but I had a lot of fun with Mackenzie, who has a lot of the sections. 
> 
> Also, I thought I saw that Mackenzie's name was "Gordon Mackenzie" but he just goes by "Gordon" in the movie...I'm just gonna stick with "Gordon Mackenzie" cause "Mackenzie Gordon" sounds odd to me. Not sure why!
> 
> I also tried to add some elements from the opera "Silent Night" which was based on this movie. Some things here and there.
> 
> Anything you see in italics is meant to be taken as another language, so French and German. And then there are German and French phrases in there that may not be right, but I tried. The translations are at the bottom.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

Irritation rolled off him as Horstmayer calmly, but quickly, walked across the snow-covered ground. Throughout the day, his nerves had been tested time and time again. The arrival of the trees in the morning had been a minor annoyance, but he tried to let it pass. Most of the men in the regiment celebrated the holiday. It was a gift from the Kaiser. It wasn’t as if he had requested any other materials that would be of actual use, but he tried to pay it no mind. 

Then Sprink was sent off and talking with the artist inched that annoyance up ever so slightly. Checking through their supplies, his eyes flickered back to the trees. It was as if they were mocking him. They could ship trees and tinsel up to the front lines but not the bullets or men he had requested? What was the point of that when they were trying to fight a war, a war they were told would be over before this blasted holiday?

Some of the men seemed at a loss as to what to do with the trees when they were finished with them. They clogged up the already narrow pathways through the trench. The beginning of a headache was starting to form behind the young man’s eyes. 

On top of all of that, he had to keep an eye out across the field. There was no telling what those French and Scottish bastards would be up to, with the attack the day before killing off a number of his men. Some of their bodies lingered out in the land between the trenches, quiet groans reaching his ears as he tried to sleep. The holiday wouldn’t hold them off, it would probably act as the opportune moment for them to spring another assault. 

When the night came and the voices from over the mound drifted into their trenches, he tried to ignore them. His frown deepened, fingers knotting together. Was it the start of an attack? A distraction? The cheers at the end deterred those thoughts and Horstmayer was unsure how to feel. There were small smiles from his men, some of them joking about the instrument being played. _Bagpipes_ , he thought. His father had joked about the Scots always playing those dreadful things when he visited the land from time to time. 

Then Sprink returned, _with a woman!_ , and everything began to fall apart. He tried to call the crazed man down from the trench, annoyance and dread forming in the pit of his stomach. The artiest bothered him but he didn’t wish to see the singer shot, not with the woman there, not when there was some sort of peace shining in his men’s eyes. 

Now they stood in the middle of the field on the small bridge, the tree perched beside the singer. Sprink had a smile on his face, raising his hand aloft slightly in the direction of the Scotsmen. 

“ _Very nice, but that’s enough_ ,” Horstmayer eyed up the soldier’s lining the trench before them. His jaw clenched, trying to keep his composure. Did this man not understand what he was doing? “ _This is not the Berlin opera._ ” 

Sprink turned his gaze to the lieutenant, the reflection from the candles making his eyes glisten. The smile grew across his face. “ _You are right,_ ” he replied, voice light and carefree, “ _It’s better than Berlin.”_

Before he could reply, movement caught the corner of Horstmayer’s eye. Turning, the crunching of snow beneath boots greeting his ears, a man was approaching them from the Scottish trench. He was older, dressed with a green greatcoat and a black cap sitting atop his head. Horstmayer slide his foot closer to Sprink, blocking the artiest from who he assumed was the Scottish lieutenant. 

The other man stopped a few paces away, his hand going to his head with a lazy salute. Horstmayer stood up straight, copying the man’s movement with a bit more stiffness. The relaxed nature of the man unnerved him as he eyed the older soldier. 

“Good evening,” he said, a small smile flashing on his face, “Do you speak English?”

The young man stayed silent for a moment, debating the option to keep that to himself before nodding, “Yes.”

The man’s eyes shined, “Wonderful. I must thank you for the show,” his attention was turned to Sprink, “My men didn’t know what to expect when they started with the bagpipes. I can’t speak for all of them, but I found it lovely.”

Sprink smiled, lowering his head down slightly, “Thank you. I was happy to hear them join in.”

Behind his back, Horstmayer’s hands gripped each other tightly. “Was there something you would need lieutenant?” he asked with a clipped tone, “We were going to make our way back to our trench…”

The other man’s eyebrow rose slightly, staring at him. Horstmayer tensed under the older gaze, but he didn’t break eye contact. The Scotsman broke first, dipping his head down to hide a smile, “I was thinking that maybe just for tonight…we could call a cease-fire.”

The words repeated over in his head and for a moment he was taken aback. A cease-fire? The idea had never crossed his mind. How could they ever call for a cease-fire? The idea seemed foolhardy. Could it be some kind of trick? The man’s face didn’t seem to give it away as such. He seemed genuine. 

“A…cease fire?” the words felt odd on his tongue, his eyebrows pinched together. 

“Just for the night,” the man clarified again, waving his hand toward the direction of his trench. “The men are celebrating Christmas Eve…I don’t think anyone would be upset if nothing were to happen tonight.”

Horstmayer’s gaze jumped from the lieutenant to the Scottish soldiers a short distance away from them. There was the same tiredness in their eyes as his men. 

“Just for tonight?” He clarified, eyes darting back to the lieutenant. As the older man nodded, fast footsteps off to the left caught his ear. Turning, who he assumed the French lieutenant was approached them.

The Scotsman repeated the same questions to the French lieutenant, who eyed both of them up with caution. The man was dressed in a dark greatcoat, blocking the ridiculous red trousers that the French soldiers wore. It made no sense to Horstmayer but who was he to say how they operated. 

The French lieutenant’s wary brown eyes met his as a pause settled between them at the Scotsman’s request. The man was unsure, most likely going through the same questions he had. 

“Don’t worry,” Horstmayer injected, shrugging his shoulders slightly, “It will only just be for tonight.”

The other man watched him, his eyes flickering up and down. After a moment, he nodded and a bit of tension seemingly left the Scotsman with a sigh.

The smile was back on the older man’s face, looking toward himself and the French lieutenant, “Wonderful. I’m Lieutenant Mackenzie,” he held out his hand, relief settling over his eyes that Horstmayer didn’t see before, “It is a pleasure lieutenant…”

“Horstmayer,” he grabbed the man’s hand with a firm shake, “ _Oberleutnant_ Horstmayer.”

Mackenzie nodded, the smile stuck on his face, letting go of his hand. He turned to the French lieutenant who watched them and the Scotsman introduced himself again.

“Lieutenant Audebert,” the man replied with a nod, reaching out and shaking Horstmayer’s hand as well, “I will inform my men…we have some champagne as well…if you are interested?”

“Can’t turn down a free drink,” Mackenzie laughed, “I will tell my men the same.”

Their eyes turned to him and Horstmayer nodded, turning his head slightly to Sprink, “ _Stay here until I get back,_ ” he muttered sternly, “ _You may as well have a drink._ ”

The singer didn’t hide his smile or the mischief in his eyes. Horstmayer would smack him if he could. “ _Of course Oberleutnant._ ” 

Walking back to the trenches, he could feel Sprink’s eyes on his back and the hundreds of eyes of his men in front of him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to drive back the headache he had fought of all day. 

This holiday he didn’t celebrate was going to be the death of him. 

*******

Mackenzie bit the inside on his mouth to hold back a laugh. The German “ _oberleutnant_ ”, as the other soldier called the young man, could be glaring holes in his comrade’s head with the look he was giving the singer. He couldn’t help but notice how tense the younger man was, though it didn’t surprise him. The idea of this cease-fire was madness if Mackenzie was to be honest with himself. Political suicide really if any of his higher-ups heard about what was happening. 

For the time being, he would push those thoughts to the back of his mind. 

Audebert poured the champagne in his small cup, a whispered thank you as the man finished topping him off. When was the last time he had champagne? It felt like years with how long this war had been dragging out for. The generals had promised that this conflict would be over by Christmas and yet here they were. Standing in the middle field littered with dead bodies, hundreds of miles away from their families on this blessed night. 

The four of them stood around in silence, Mackenzie looking to the other two lieutenants, before holding his cup up, “Merry Christmas.”

Horstmayer watched him for a moment before lifting his cup, “ _Fröhliche Weihnachten_.”

“ _Joyeux Noël_ ,” Audebert chimed in, raising his cup. The metal clinked against one another and Mackenzie brought the cup back up to his lips. The smell of the champagne was heavenly. 

A “pop” in the distance made him tense, lowering the cup and looking up into the darkness. Yellow flares soared through the sky from the German trench, blanketing the area in light. 

“ _Wer est der idiot…?_ ” Horstmayer muttered, turning back to look at his trench. Mackenzie followed his gaze and his eyes widened. The men, who had stood along the trench watching them, slowly moved off the top and cautiously stepped into the heart of what was a battlefield only a day before. He whipped his head around and saw his men looking at one another, unsure of how to act. It was only when Father Palmer stepped forward that the other’s seemed to follow. 

The French soldiers to the left moved next, creeping slowly towards the advancing Germans. If he had pictured that Christmas Eve would look like this when he woke up in the morning, he would have slapped himself on the head. 

Fraternizing with the enemy, that was something he had never done before. Yet this war was unlike anything he had dealt with. 

The soldier beside Horstmayer, Sprink he believed the name was, turned away from them slightly. His hand was outstretched toward a figure he couldn’t make out with the darkness. It approached, pushing back the hood to reveal a blonde-haired woman. She nodded her head in greeting, saying her name was Anna, though Mackenzie didn’t know how to respond. The Germans couldn’t possibly have women normally in their trench, could they?

The pair walked away, Sprink saying something underneath his breath to the lieutenant _,_ who nodded and turned his attention away from the two. The young man took a sip from his cup, smiling slightly. “This is delicious,” he said to Audebert, who looked just as confused as Mackenzie felt, “ _Danke_.”

“I’m sorry. I’m confused,” Mackenzie held up his hand, pointing in the general direction of the pair, “Do you normally…?”

“No,” the younger man cut in, sighing with a hint of annoyance, “It is….complicated, as you say.”

Audebert’s laugh was muffled by his cup, taking a sip of the drink. The Scotsman didn’t hide his laugh, shaking his head. 

“Seems like it.”

The three stood there together in silence, the chattering of the men around them filling the air. Mackenzie watched them exchange photographs, showing each other their families. A couple of the boys even let some of the German soldiers play their bagpipes. He can feel the smile creeping onto his face, watching them all like this. Forgetting about the horrors they experienced hours ago for this moment. 

“Do you boys have any family back home?”

Audebert’s shoulders slump noticeable at the question. Mackenzie furrowed his eyebrows together. He hoped he didn’t touch a nerve of some kind. Maybe he should have kept the question to himself. 

“ _Ja_ , my father, and mother,” Horstmayer replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets. A hint of a smile appeared on his lips, “my wife as well.”

The Scotsman’s eyebrows raised slightly at that, amusement in his eyes. “How long have you been married?”

The younger man frowned, pursing his lips slightly. He eyed Mackenzie with caution, like telling him any part of his life could be used against him. The older man could understand, but he had never met someone so cautious in his entire life. 

“A little over a year,” he finally replied, “But I have known her for many years.”

“Childhood sweethearts?” Mackenzie teased, earning a small chuckle from the quiet Frenchman. Horstmayer’s jaw tensed, rolling his eyes. 

“Not that long.”

Horstmayer didn’t have a photo of his wife with him, but Mackenzie got the idea that was something the young man wished to keep for himself. It was understandable, the German seemed like the private sort. 

The photo he pulled out was of his family, his lovely wife and two girls grinning from ear to ear. It had been an unusually warm spring day when the photo was taken. They had gone out into some of the fields beside their home and one of his childhood friends had happened to be over with a new camera he wished to show off. Faintly, he could still hear the girls laughing as they ran away from him. His heart clenched at the memory. 

Audebert had a small smile on his face as he passed the photo back to him, “They seem lovely. How…,” he paused, trying to find the words, “old? How old are they?”

“The youngest is 6. The older one turned 8 just before…I left for the war,” he slide the photo back in his wallet, placing it into his jacket’s inner pocket, “I was lucky enough to be with her, I would never hear the end of it if I missed that day.”

Sadness flashed in the French man’s eyes. There was indeed something bothering the lieutenant but Mackenzie knew to keep his mouth shut. This one seemed to almost be as hard to crack as the German. 

Audebert nodded after a few moments with a small smile, “I am sure she was….happy, that you were there.”

“Very much,” he chuckled, trying to block out the crack in his voice. Thinking of the girls always got him emotional, “She’d become a terror if I wasn’t. But her mother is tough and can deal with her.”

When he asked Audebert about a photo of his wife, the man flustered for a moment. He had lost the photo of her but pulled out a small book instead. He opened it to a certain page and Mackenzie was taken aback by the skill of the drawing. It was simple, but there were little pieces and details that made the image come to life. The Frenchman tried to downplay his skill, shrugging slightly as he mentioned the drawing wouldn’t be the same as the photo. 

Passing the book to Horstmayer, Mackenzie opened his mouth to compliment Audebert when he noticed the younger man’s eyes shoot up. 

“Do you live…on Rue Vavin?”

Audebert’s eyebrows furrowed, taken aback, and told Horstmayer that he did. Mackenzie wasn’t sure what Rue Vavin was, nothing came to his mind as he watched the German rummage through his jacket and pull out a wallet. The Frenchman quickly grabbed it, opening it up. His fingers dragged slowly across what Mackenzie assumed was a photo, which was neatly tucked into the wallet. There was a pause between two of them before the younger man replied in French, surprising the Scotsman. The little bastard didn’t mention he could do that. 

Audebert smiled slightly at the lieutenant, cradling the wallet with care, “ _Merci beaucoup_.”

“Look at him, speaking English, German, and French,” Mackenzie shook his head, clapping the young German on the back lightly, “Any other tricks up your sleeve we should know?”

Horstmayer raised an eyebrow, silent for a few moments before he smirked tightly, “None that you need to know lieutenant.” 

When the three of them stood together where the makeshift mass occurred, the artillery firing off in the distance, sadness crept into his chest. How long had the groups been intermingling? It felt like just a few short hours. Maybe less. Was this all the time they would have together? 

Placing his cap back on his head, Mackenzie turned to the two lieutenants. Saluting one another, a whisper of “good evening” under his breath, he began to shepherd his men back toward their trench. Many of them took their time, shaking the hands of the French and German soldiers who stood with them. He didn’t feel it his place to rush them. 

Standing on the trench, waiting for the last of the men to make their way back, Mackenzie took one last look across the field. The trees decorated the German trenches, shimmering in the night. There had been nothing like this before, this much he knew. 

It would be a new story he could tell his girls when he returned. A small light in this mass of darkness they called war. 

******

Light cascaded outside his bunker, a flare whistling across the sky from what Audebert assumed would be the German trench. With a small smile on his face, his gaze lingered back to the photo he thought he would never see again. Madeline’s smile was as radiant ad he remembered. The sketch of her could do no justice to the picture that his fingers slowly traced over. That day had been peaceful, the end of May bringing the warmer weather that she always craved. Summer was her favorite season, between the visits to the coast and tending to the garden at her family's home in the country. 

The home that was just an hour’s walk away if Ponchel was to be believed. 

He had thought the wallet lost to him. The panic of looking for the treasured item was still fresh in his mind. Of all the things to lose, how could it have been that? The thing that held his most prized possession?

_“Do you live…on Rue Vavin?”_

The look in the German lieutenant’s eyes had caught him off guard. The younger man was a puzzle to Audebert as he watched him and the Scotsman interact. Closed off, overly cautious…but he seemed open to conversation. He would be lying to say he wasn’t cautious himself. These two men were a mystery to him, one of them his supposed enemy. But when Horstmayer looked down at the sketch of his wife, there was a light in his eyes that Audebert didn’t see before. Recognition. 

When he presented the wallet, it was as if the world stopped. The German’s words were muffled, a mention of finding it in the trench as Audebert carefully took it from the gloved hands into his own. 

It was the address that made the other man keep the wallet. The simple recognition of the name of the road. 

Leaning his head against the wall, Audebert closed his eyes and sighed. It felt like a connection if only a small one. Horstmayer and his wife had been on their street over a year ago, celebrating a moment in their lives. He wondered where he and Madeline had been at the time. Did the couples walk by one another? And if they did, would they expect to find themselves meeting together? Not on the streets of Paris, but the battlegrounds of a war?

The younger man’s French impressed him as well. Mackenzie had tried, but it came out a little messy. The older man had apologized but Audebert had only laughed. It was the thought that counted.

A light knock broke him from his thoughts. Cracking open his eyes, his gaze fell on Ponchel at the entrance of his bunker. 

“ _Is something wrong Ponchel?_ ” He asked, the sketchbook sitting in his lap.

“ _No, no lieutenant_ ,” his batman shook his head with a small smile, stepping into the bunker, “ _we have some left over’s from the meal earlier…we wanted to check if you wanted anything_.”

Audebert lips tugged into a smile. If he didn’t have Ponchel looking out for him, sometimes he wondered what he would do with himself. “ _Thank you Ponchel, but I’m fine,_ ” he answered lightly, raising his hand at Ponchel’s expected resistance, “ _Really. You and the men should finish it off._ ”

The private frowned but nodded, his eyes catching sight of the sketchbook, “ _Oh! Lieutenant, you found the photograph!_ ”

Nodding, Audebert stood up and walked over to the other man, who patted him on the back. He let Ponchel take the photograph, knowing he could trust his batman with it. 

“ _Where did you find it_ ?” he questioned, smiling down at the image, “ _I thought you had said you lost your wallet?_ ”

Explaining the story to the other man, it still felt surreal. A German lieutenant, someone who he should hate with every fiber of his being, by chance had found the wallet. Recognized the address and kept it. It could have been thrown away or the man could have kept the piece of information hidden from Audebert. But it was with him on this blessed night. And Horstmayer had willingly given it to him, sheepishly mentioning that he and his wife had honeymooned on the same street. 

Audebert half-listened as Ponchel happily chatted beside him, recounting his tales of the German soldiers he had talked with that night, mentioning something about a cat named “Nestor” from time to time. But he was lost in his thoughts, thinking back to the bridge. He, Mackenzie, and Horstmayer standing there, sharing stories. 

It had been a small moment. But it changed everything. And Audebert wasn’t sure how he was supposed to fight with that memory replaying in his mind. 

*******

The morning sun was covered by a few stray clouds but still provided some warmth to Audebert’s cold hands. He wrung them together through his gloves, trying for a small bit of friction. The two other lieutenants, sitting across from him, seemed just as chilled as he was. 

It had been a surprise when he saw the two of them standing together at the top of the trench in the fog. Almost dreamlike. They informed him of an idea they wished to discuss, regarding the dead men littered across the field. Before moving with them to where the bridge stood, he requested that Ponchel provide coffee. His batman looked at him like he was crazy but agreed. 

Maybe he was a bit crazy. 

The coffee, as always with Ponchel, was fantastic. Even if it was being made in the trenches, it was better than anything Audebert could make at home. 

“I don’t know what he does or makes this with,” Mackenzie stated with a happy sigh, the cup cradled in his hands, “but this is almost as good as that champagne last night.”

Horstmayer, silent beside the Scotsman, nodded and took another sip.

With a smile, Audebert thanked that man. They discussed the matter of the bodies, agreeing that they would be able to bury the bodies of the men left behind in previous attacks in the time they had been in the trenches. Mackenzie laughed quietly at the irony of burying the dead on the day Christ was born. 

In the distance, the familiar alarm of Ponchel’s clock went off. Audebert took another sip of his coffee, paying it no mind. He couldn’t help to chuckle silently at Horstmayer’s eyebrows pinching together and Mackenzie checking his wristwatch. 

“Oh,” the Scotsman said, tapping the watch’s face, “I’m fast.”

“I’m sorry,” Horstmayer interjected, fixing him with a puzzled look, “but why does that alarm go off every day at ten o’clock? Is it for a changing of the guard?”

At that Audebert can’t help but laugh lightly, “Oh no. It’s Ponchel’s clock. Every morning he used to have coffee with his mother at this time,” he shrugged, the smile tight on his face, “He uses it so he won’t forget. We’ve just gotten used to it.”

Burying the bodies took time. Audebert watched as the men carried them toward a makeshift graveyard to the side of the trenches, the Scottish pastor making his way around to each site. 

He knelt by his trenches, taking stock of the items that had been collected from the lost men. Testing their guns to see if they had ammunition and were still of use. There were articles of clothing that he took inventory of. He also noted each French solider that was carried by him, jotting down their name to make sure he hadn’t missed anyone when he initially lost them in the battles. 

Sighing deeply, he rubbed his eyes. Where was the honor in this? People talked highly of war, of the great feeling of fighting for the fatherland that would be gained protecting their home. But there was only despair and death that surrounded all these men. His father would speak of the need for war but he wasn’t in these trenches with him. With his men, fighting side by side. They only saw the numbers, the “wins and loses”. They never stood side by side with their supposed enemy and saw that they weren’t any different from them. 

Finishing up his count, Audebert stuffed his book back into the inner pocket of his jacket. The men had slowly migrated away from the graveyard, finished with the task of burying the dead, and started to sit around the field. As he walked toward the bridge, he noted Ponchel with a German and Scottish private, that cat he loved sitting amongst them. Turning his head, he saw a big group working to create makeshift goals.

Sitting down on the bridge, Audebert let himself relax. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt at such ease. Most of the time in the trenches, everything around them as tense. Never knowing when the next attack would come. Always being prepared. It left him exhausted after doing it day after day. 

A flash of grey caught his eye and he turned, watching Horstmayer clap his hands at his men playing futbol. A small smile touched the German’s face. There time together had been short, but it was still a rare sight for Audebert. It was genuine. 

“ _Do you not play_?” Horstmayer asked in French, gesturing over to the crowd of men kicking the ball around. 

Audebert turned his head briefly, looking on as one of the German soldiers kicked the ball past the goal, “ _Sadly no. I never had the feel for the game_ ,” he explained as the younger man sat down beside him, “ _I tended to be off drawing or had my nose in a book_.”

The lieutenant nodded, turning his gaze out to the makeshift field. The men who weren’t playing in the game lined what Audebert imagined would be the boundary, laughing and cheering when the ball would get taken away or if someone fell. Beside him, Horstmayer clapped and yelled something out in German, getting a few nods from his soldiers who continued with the game. 

“ _Did you play_?” Audebert questioned. 

“ _A little, when I was younger_ ,” Horstmayer paused, scratching the side of his face. He muttered under his breath, “ _I uh…worked_ ?” He looked at Audebert sheepishly, as if he was nervous. It took him a moment but Audebert nodded, assuring the German he had the right word. The other man nodded and continued, “ _I worked with my father and lost the time to play as I grew_.”

“ _What did your father do, if you don’t mind me asking…_?”

“ _He was baker_ ,” Horstmayer answered with a shrug, his gaze back on the game, “ _He is the only one in the village. It is the family business_.”

A small roar rose from the men as a German soldier slide the ball past the Scottish pastor. The older man seemed flustered, turning to one of the French soldiers with a confused expression. Audebert held back a smile, shaking his head. Maybe having someone who didn’t speak the language as the co-goal tender wasn’t the smartest idea his men had. 

“Poor bastard,” Mackenzie’s voice muttered behind them with a small laugh. Audebert turned and watched the Scotsman shake his head, “Father Palmer’s bite off a bit more then he can chew with your boys. They seem quite good.”

“Some of them played in the clubs back in Germany,” Horstmayer acknowledged with a small smirk, shifting over to give the other man room, “I am sure they are happy to show off.”

Mackenzie sat down beside them and the three lieutenants fell into a comfortable silence. Audebert looked at the two out of the corner of his eye, Horstmayer focused on the game and Mackenzie attempting to light up his pipe. How funny the last twenty-fours seemed. At this time the day before, he had been busying himself in his trench. Worrying about a possible German attack and the Christmas Eve meal that then men were going to put together. 

It took him a moment to realize, sitting amongst these people, that he felt at ease. More at ease then he had felt in months. Even in the presence of his father, he never felt as comfortable. These men, who sat together, drank together, and had shot at one another…they knew how this war felt better than anyone back in the cities, in the villages. 

Peace like this wouldn’t last. But he could pretend for a moment that it could. 

“ _I heard about your wife_ ,” Horstmayer’s voice brought him out from his thoughts. The German paused, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze, “ _If you like…I could get a letter to her_.”

Disbelief and confusion washed over him. The younger lieutenant couldn’t be serious. But the look in the other man’s eyes held no lies, no tricks that Audebert could see. 

Even if he were to tell anyone about what happened over the past day, no one would believe it. 

*******

Horstmayer was called away briefly, leaving Mackenzie and Audebert together on the bridge. Mackenzie watched the younger man leave, the private who called the lieutenant over motioning toward the German trench. There was no use trying to read lips when he couldn’t understand the damn language. 

Turning away, he took the pipe out of his mouth and blew the smoke into the air. The men mingled amongst themselves, groups playing cards, others just talking with each other. The futbol game continued, the men swapping positions and spots for others who hadn’t gotten the chance to play. 

The scene was surreal if Mackenzie was being honest with himself. 

“It’s funny, don’t you think?” He asked out loud, elbows resting on his knees, “To think this could be happening.”

Audebert, who had eyed him curiously, nodded, “Yes, it is quite…strange. But nice, no?”

“Oh it’s very nice,” Mackenzie smiled, “I just wonder how things will be when this all has to end,” his eyes turned downcast, tapping his pipe on his leg, “the war won’t forget about us.”

The Frenchman hummed in agreement, looking out over the field. A tight smile formed on his face as he watched a group of men showing off to one another. “Yes…it sadly will not.”

“Do you think…,” the Scotsman paused, cleaning out the remnants of his pipe onto the snowy ground. When Audebert raised an eyebrow as him, expecting him to finish his thought, Mackenzie’s frown deepened, “Do you think some of your higher-ups already know? What has happened here…I feel like a secret that won’t be kept.”

He had never seen someone’s expression darken so quickly. Audebert’s hands curled into his trousers, jaw tensing. For a long moment, nothing was said between the two. They knew the outcome of these days. Fraternization with the enemy at such a scale would only spell out dire consequences for not only them but their men. 

Sighing, Audebert’s eyes caught Mackenzie’s and the older man is surprised at the resigned expression that he is met with. “It cannot be helped,” he muttered with a shrug, “What is done is done. What happens next…we must be prepared for it.”

That was all they could do. Mackenzie could hear the lashing he would get from the General, storming into the trench red in the face. He loathed the man but there was nothing he could do about the situation. There was no telling where they would send him and the regiment, but he knew they would be run out of this area as fast as possible. What use were they if they wouldn’t fight their “enemy”?

“You don’t happen to have any more of that champagne, would you?” Audebert fixed him with a puzzled expression. Mackenzie shrugged casually, “I would rather get drunk off the good stuff than whatever cheap scotch they gave us for Christmas.”

With a laugh, Audebert shook his head, “I can see what I can find. We may have some wine. Maybe we have it tonight?”

“I don’t see the harm in that. One last hoo-rah.”

“When Horstmayer returns, I will mention it to him. It is not as if he has anything better to do.”

Nodding, Mackenzie’s gaze lingered on the German trench where the lieutenant once stood. Horstmayer's stern expression flashed into the Scotsman’s mind, the cautious pause before the eventually “yes” making him chuckle. That would exactly how the young strict man would respond to Audeberth’s request. 

“How old do you think Horstmayer is?” Mackenzie blurted out before he could stop himself. What type of foolish question was that? 

“I would say that the beard makes him look older,” Audebert responded as if it was nothing, his hand pretending to grab at his chin, “Younger men tend to grow the beard out to look…more mature?”

“Mature, yes you’re right,” He stifled his chuckle, “They do don’t know? They don’t want to show off that baby face.”

“It is funny in that way…the younger trying to act and appear more mature. Because they have to lead.”

How true it was. The older generation could sit back and criticize them but it was the young men fighting in the war. Losing their lives, their friendships, sacrificing everything.

“It’s a young man’s war.”

*******

The night air was crisp, the dark skies cleared of clouds. The stars littering the black canvas shined brightly, reminding Mackenzie of the skies back in Scotland. His daughters loved going out into the back yard, laying out on the grass and picking out each star they could remember from the books he showed them. 

Nights like those were his favorite.

A whispered “ _merci_ ” pulled him from the memory. Turning his head, Audebert was pouring the last bit of wine that was left from the bottle in the small cup that Horstmayer held. The German lieutenant nodded to the Frenchman, taking a quick sip of the drink. Audebert had a small smile on his face, watching the younger man for a moment before putting the wine bottle down at his feet.

The small cup in Mackenzie’s hand felt heavy. This would be the last night of their truce. There was no way to continue on with what they had been doing. It would be absurd to think that whispers haven’t been going back to base regarding what has happened. He would be too naive to think all the men would keep their mouths shut. 

But in times like this, he wished he could be. Just for a little while longer. 

“It is quiet tonight,” Audebert smiled sadly, looking off beyond their own trenches, “I am usually nervous when it is but...this is nice.”

Horstmayer’s gaze was turned downward, his hands preoccupied with the cup that was cradled within them. The ever-present frown on his face. 

“Christmas day, I wouldn’t be surprised if the men just didn’t...feel inclined to do anything,” Mackenzie suggested, taking a small sip of the wine, “I know I wasn’t this morning.”

Audebert raised his small cup, knocking it lightly against Mackenzie’s. Meeting the other man’s gaze, the Scotsman couldn’t hold back the small smile tugging on his lips. Had it only been twenty-four hours ago when they had met together on this same bridge? It had felt as if it was a lifetime ago. How they had formed this small, what he would like to consider, friendship in the amount of time they had together shocked him.

But as he thought about it, watching Audebert pull Horstmayer out of whatever thoughts were preoccupying the younger man, it began to make sense. These men understood what was happening here. No one at home would understand their experiences. Even the men in his own army wouldn’t understand. It was a special connection they made through a moment that Mackenzie was positive would never happen again. 

It would be sad to see them go. He had grown fond of the pair. 

“And perhaps, Mackenzie would…?”

Hearing his name, Mackenzie turned his gaze to Audebert, who was holding out his gloved hand to him. The Scottish lieutenant pointed to himself, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, “I’m sorry, I lost myself...what did you say?”

With a small smile, Audebert laughed, “It is fine...I had told Horstmayer earlier today...that he could visit Paris as a tourist,” the smile turned sad, his welcoming gaze somber, “I wanted to extend? Extend...the invitation to you. As well.” 

Warmth filled his chest. The idea was preposterous. It was unlikely they would all make it through the war. 

Yet, sitting with Audebert and Horstmayer, he didn’t care. 

Horstmayer watched him beside Audebert, the same somberness in his eyes. 

“Is that what you two were whispering about in French earlier?” Mackenzie teased, placing his cup beside him and crossing his arms over his chest, “I thought you may have been talking behind my back.”

“We were,” Horstmayer cut in bluntly, his expression unreadable. They stared each other down, Mackenzie not backing down, before the German broke and bite back a small smile, “You should just learn more French.”

“ _S'il vous plaît_ ,” Audebert held up his hand, “I do not think I could take it.”

“Oi, it can’t be that…” The Scotsman stopped himself at the raised eyebrow from the French lieutenant, heating flushing his cheeks, “Okay, maybe it was that bad.”

“Do not concern yourself,” Audebert patted his shoulder reassuringly. 

“But yes, thank you. That would be nice,” Mackenzie confessed, scratching the back of his neck. A nervous tick he thought he had gotten rid of, “It would be an honor to meet with you both again.”

Silence settled over them. The smile on Horstmayer’s face dipped, the young lieutenant wringing his hands together. Audebert eyed the two men beside him before finishing the last bit of his wine. The invitation rolled around in Mackenzie’s head. Forming into something more. 

“What if,” he started, turning himself toward them, “What if we met up on the first Christmas Eve after the war? On...Rue Vavin? That’s what you said last night right?” 

Horstmayer’s eyes widened slightly, stoning his expression with a quick muttering of a “yes” under his breath. Audebert looked at the Scotsman as if he had two heads. 

He didn’t know if they would make it through the war. The chances were low. But the idea of keeping another promise, on top of the one to his family...Mackenzie knew it would strengthen his resolve.

“That could be some time,” uttered Horstmayer, eyes flickering between the two of them, “how would we know…?”

“Exchange addresses,” Mackezine supplied quickly, dismissing the German when his eyebrows rose, “Don’t look at me like that, I saw some of my men passing their addresses to some of your’s today. We...we could give them to Audebert,” he turned to the Frenchman, who looked at him with more confusion, “you can send out letters to the both of us…”

Audebert’s jaw tensed, his mouth set into a frown. Slowly, his hand went into his jacket and he pulled out the book he had displayed to them the evening before. A pencil was also in his hand. Quickly, he flipped through the pages toward the back of the book and stopped on a blank space. 

“I know of the hotel you mentioned last night,” Audebert paused, looking to Horstmayer before turning to Mackenzie, “It is on the road I live on. We could…,” he stopped again with a breathy laugh, “Meet. Meet there.”

The book was passed to Mackenzie, the pencil held out between them. Carefully, he took it and met his friend’s eyes. They were determined. As if he was forcing himself to believe that this could happen. The Scotsman nodded, understanding. 

With care, he wrote down his address. With a quick glance over it, making sure nothing was misspelled, he passed it back to the lieutenant. 

“You will be able to make it away from the family,” Audebert’s eyes glanced over the address, smiling slightly looking up at him, “Gordon?”

Oh yes, he supposed he hadn’t thought they would find out his first name.

“When I explain it to my wife and the kids, I think I can get them to understand,” he replied with a wave, watching as Horstmayer started down at the paper. 

The young man hadn’t made the move to write anything. He rotated the pencil in his hand, hesitating. After a moment, with a soft sigh, he quickly wrote onto the page underneath Gordon’s area. 

Horstmayer held out the book and pencil and Audebert took it, examining it as he had before.

“And you, Karl?”

Karl shook his head, “It will be no issue. We do not normally celebrate that day.”

Mackenzie blinked, taken aback slightly. His gaze caught Audebert’s quickly, who shared in the confusion before turning their attention back to Horstmayer. 

“I am Jewish,” he clarified with a shrug, tugging on his gloves, “There is no reason to.”

For a moment, Mackenzie stared at the man. The information went through his head again before he laughed, his hand jumping up to his chest. He really read this lad all wrong!

“And here I thought your no non-sense attitude about Christmas was because you were German,” he tried to muffle his laughter, shaking his head, “I’m sorry, it just…”

“My wife said the same thing,” Horstmayer replied with a playful roll of his eyes, a smile tugging on his mouth, “It is fine with me.”

“And I will be able to get away for a little while,” Audebert added, pushing through Mackenzie’s muffled laughter, “If I explain...my wife will understand.”

Pulling out an empty page of the book, Audeberth folded the piece into two. With the pencil, he jotted something down on both folded sides. Then he carefully tore the paper in half, handing one to each of them. 

With some sense of control back, Mackenzie took the piece of paper. His eyes scanned the item, “Thank you...Camille,” he frowned, looking to the other man, “Did I say that right?”

“To the best of your ability,” Camille reassured with a smile, earning a snort from Horstmayer beside him. 

Brushing the two of them off, Mackenzie pulled out his wallet and safely put the paper in the same pocket as the photo of his family. Two promises to keep. 

They lingered on the bridge late into the night. When they stood to part ways, Horstmayer was the first to stick out his hand. Mackenzie grabbed it with a firm shake, “Good luck to you Karl.”

“You as well Gordon.” 

The German turned to Audebert and they spoke to each other in French briefly before shaking hands. 

“ _Bonne chance Camille_.”

“ _Toi aussi Karl_.”

Was it awful that he didn’t want this to end? Mackenzie wasn’t sure. In the eyes of others, probably. But it didn’t matter to him. Making it to the end of the war to be with his family again. To see Camille and Karl again. That was what mattered.

“Best of luck Camille,” Mackenzie chuckled, “I have the feeling that they may be moving you from beside us.”

The Frenchman smile tightly, squeezing his hand, “It cannot be helped. But it has been an honor. Best of luck.”

Slowly, the three parted ways. Mackenzie took one small glance back, Horstmayer’s grey greatcoat moving further away. Some of the trees still lingered along the trench, small lights bleeding into the darkness. The young lieutenant vanished as he stepped down into the heart of their trench. 

Audebert disappeared into his trench with one final salute. 

Standing on top of the mound of dirt, Gordon glanced over the field one last time. Hours before it had been busy with laughter. French, English, and German filling the air. Now, it was silent. 

The war would not forget them. But he knew, deep in his soul that no one in these trenches would forget what happened here.

When this war was over, he would make it to Paris.


	2. 1915, 1916, & 1917 - Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Finally back here with the 2nd part of this story. It took much longer than I thought it would. I was able to write the Horstmayer part with such ease that I thought I would have it up sooner but the other two parts...took me a bit to get them written but I'm happy with how they came out. 
> 
> So this part takes place over the following years the war happens. WW1 lasted until November of 1918, which is the only year I didn't include. If they are going to meet up again, it's not going to be until 1919, just because the end of the war was cutting it a little close to Christmas in 1918. I tried to place all three of them in an area where their regiments may have been, we know that Horstmayer went to the Eastern front, Audebert to Verdun, but we never got a solid spot with Mackenzie so I took to the liberty of looking up where they could have been. 
> 
> I have Jörg a private? That may be a little low on the ranks scale but I thought that it made sense...I'd have to look up the German military ranks again. Also! Jörg is saying, hopefully if the translation is right, happy Chanukah to Horstmayer. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! I'm aiming to start work on the 3rd part soon, which will be...a little happier :)

**Eastern Front** \- **Christmas Eve** \- _1915_

One fall, as the seasons slowly started to change, his mother told him something about his father that he never knew. His father was a proud man. When he was younger, Horstmayer believed there was nothing that his father feared. The man told grand tales of adventures to different lands in Europe that he could only dream of. 

But his father had told him one night, after a long day at the bakery, that the only thing he couldn’t stand was the winters to the east. Karl couldn’t understand that, asking his father what was so awful about them. He had experienced cold winters, the times when it snowed were some of his favorite. 

The look in his father’s eyes seemed miles away, his gaze lingering on the small fire in their fireplace. The winters there were nothing like the ones here, he had said. 

When he asked his mother, she smiled sadly at him. His grandfather, who he never got to meet, died while out east during the winter. The man had taken to setting up makeshift bread stands on the far east of Prussia, along the border with Lituania. He would roam from village to village, gathering as much money as he could for his family back home. The winter had been bitterly cold one year, blindsiding him. 

_“Your father swore he would never go that far east again,”_ she caressed his cheek, _“And I have never asked him to.”_

It was only now that he understood his father’s distaste. 

The bitter wind, seeping through the cracks of his bunker, bit at his skin. The small fire that he had set up next to his makeshift desk did little to fight off the cold. He tried to focus on the reports littered over the tabletop, eyes dancing across each line. There would be no relief as he requested. No more bullets, no more soldiers. Not until the generals figured out their next move.

The frown on his face deepened with every word. What did they expect him to do if the Russians decided to attack? They were disorganized, but they were still a force to deal with. 

Scoffing, he slammed the report down on his desk and stood up. Too quickly. He felt his feet sway, bile rising up to his throat. Steadying himself with his hand, bracing the chair, Horstmayer closed his eyes. 

After a moment the feeling passed. A shaky breath left his lips. He counted slowly in his mind to ten and opened his eyes, his vision dancing for a moment before returning to normal.

An unexpected attack the week before had taken them by surprise. His regiment had organized quickly and was able to fight the Russians back, but they hadn’t come out unscathed. A small grenade had landed close by him and some of the men. He had only noticed it too late and he was blown back, head slamming into the trench wall. Everything became fuzzy after that and the next thing he remembered was being in the medic’s tent, head pounding. 

A light knock outside his bunker made Horstmayer jump. He prayed for it not to be the doctor. The older man with his judging eyes and knowing smirk were not what he was looking for at the moment.

“ _Come in_ ,” he said, voice rougher then he wanted. Curse this damn concussion. 

The covering over the entrance lifted up and Jörg stepped through, the small smile on his face dipping when he saw Horstmayer. The other man was holding a bottle in his hand. 

" _Oh_ _Oberleutnant, are you alright_?" Jörg asked, walking over to him. Horstmayer raised his hand, stopping the private. The other man paused, sighing as he put the bottle on the table. “ _I thought the doctor told you to rest_.”

The doctor should mind his own business. “ _I am fine...I just needed a moment_.”

Jörg’s eyebrow rose at the statement, skeptical. After a moment he shrugged, “ _If you say so Oberleutant_.”

“ _Was there something you needed Jörg_?” Horstmayer asked sternly. There were still reports to look over. There was still work to be done. 

“ _No sir, I had volunteered to ask if you wanted to join the men for Christmas Eve dinner_ ,” Jörg answered, grabbing the bottle and presenting it to the younger man, “ _I figured you wouldn’t, busy as you are. I thought I would bring you something though, just in case_.”

Christmas Eve. How had he forgotten the date? The mood of the regiment made more sense, now that he thought about it. They seemed more upbeat than they had been, though the morale had been high with the September battle that was won. 

**_“What if we met up on the first Christmas Eve after the war? On...Rue Vavin?”_ **

His jaw tensed, the Scottish accent ringing in his mind. When had he last thought of them?

“ _Oberleutant_?”

Horstmayer blinked, looking back up to the private. Jörg’s eyebrows were pinched together, his expression worried. 

“ _Y_ _es, I’m...sorry Jörg_ ,” he apologized, taking the bottle, “ _I had just…_ ”

“ _Forgotten? You are not the only one sir_ ,” a smile small tugged on Jörg’s lips, “ _there is no reminder like there was last year. All the trees filling up the trench_.”

The bottle was wine, which surprised him. It was very rare they got wine out on the frontlines. “ _Where did you get this_?” 

“ _Traded it, sir. I remembered you liked wine. It may not be as good as the French_ …”

Horstmayer quickly rose his hand, the private falling silent. The younger man passed him, quickly looking outside either way before letting the cloth cover the entrance. 

“ _I apologize Oberleutant_ ,” Jörg muttered from behind him, gaze on the floor.

His grip on the bottle tightened. The stigma and whispers that were thrown their way when his regiment arrived in east Prussia still made his skin crawl. What right did they have to judge him? His men? They were not there those two days. How could they understand?

But all his superiors knew and he could hear their whispers and mockery of him behind his back. 

“ _There is nothing to apologize for Jörg_ ,” he reassured, walking back toward him, “ _Thank you, for bringing th_ -”

When they first arrived in this part of the trench, Horstmayer had taken note of the unevenness of the ground. There were a few spots in the bunker that he figured would be a problem and he did his best to avoid them. 

But his mind had been wandering. 

The tip of his boot caught a root that curved from the ground. His eyes widened as he tripped forward, Jörg’s surprised gaze turning to him. The loss of balance disoriented him for a moment and he tried to reach out for the table but that hand was occupied by the wine bottle he still held. The dizziness, that had been fogging his mind for days, rushed back and he tried to stretch out his unoccupied hand to catch himself on the ground. 

A hand gripped his upper arm, catching him before he met the dirt. But nausea had come back to him, his head swirling. There was a voice off in the distance, familiar, but his vision had blurred once again. 

He felt himself being lead, careful hands helping him to sit. Pinching the bridge of his nose, a small headache behind his eyes, he tried to regain himself. This concussion was lasting longer than the previous one. When had the last one been? When they first arrived at the front? That felt so long ago. He hated this front, so far from home. Why had they left the other front? There was the cease fi-

Taking a deep breath, he carefully opened his eyes and watched a blurred figure moving around the bunker. Who was in his bunker?

“ _You need to rest more Oberleutant_ ,” the figure muttered before him, pressing a cup into his hand, “ _The bags under your eyes are worse than before_.”

Jörg. It was always Jörg here, wasn’t it?

He swallowed, trying to focus himself. Of all the times to have one of these episodes. 

After a few silent minutes, things slowly came back into focus. The cup in his hand had water. Carefully, _when had his hand began to shake?_ , he took a sip from it. His throat felt incredibly dry. 

Finishing the drink, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. Jörg sat in front of him, watching Horstmayer carefully. 

“ _Do you want me to get the doctor_?” He asked. 

“ _No, I know what he will say_ ,” the young man disputed, placing the cup on the table beside him, “ _It is...something I can handle. I thought it already gone_.”

The private’s gaze was skeptical, staring down Horstmayer. Jörg had a knack for such behavior with the other men as well. Always the mother hen type. 

“ _Thank you, Jörg. You don’t have to stay. I’m sure the other’s_ …”

“ _No, no_ ,” he objected, “ _They are fine. I will stay_.”

Horstymayer’s hands wrung together, the cold biting into his fingertips. He studied the man for a moment, their gazes unbroken before he dipped his head. He bit his lower lip to hide the small smile on his face.

“ _You are welcome to do so_.”

Jörg checked over him again, much to Horstmayer’s dismay. To be this man’s senior, in rank, and yet he was the one being treated as a child. He tried not to let it bother him. 

The wine bottle, unharmed, sat on the table next to them. Jörg tided up the papers that were scattered on it, pushing them to one corner. He had made to grab anther sheet when he stopped. Horstmayer stared at him, confused, before finding what the other man was looking at. Everything in him tensed.

“ _Please don’t_ ,” Horstmayer moved to grab the paper, which was wrinkled with folds and worn around the edges. The letter slide from the other man’s hand, Horstmayer taking it with great care.

“ _I didn’t…_ ,” Jörg stopped, sitting back in his seat. He had grabbed the wine bottle and worked to open it, avoiding his eyes, “ _I’m so-_ ”

“ _Jörg, if you apologize again I don’t know what I will do with myself_ ,” he protested with a stern but amused tone. His gaze lingered down at the letter, reading the words over for the hundredth time. The curve of the letters, the words line by line, he knew it all by heart. Memorized it. 

It had been six long months since he had received the letter from his Christine. 

“ _Some of the men were hoping they would get the mail before Christmas Eve_ ,” Jörg shook his head, popping the cork off the bottle, “ _It seems like ages since we’ve received mail_.”

The letter was safely tucked into his coat’s inner pocket, resting over his heart. “ _I had hoped the same. I thought they were bringing it when they sent these reports_ ,” he shrugged, “ _I don’t know when we’ll get it. I apologize_.”

The older man chuckled, pouring himself a small cup of wine, “ _It is not your fault Oberleuant. Unless you’ve decided to also deliver mail now?"_

He scoffed, eyeing up the wine before grabbing his own cup and offering it to Jörg. 

“ _You’re not going to throw it up are you_?”

“ _Just give me some wine Jörg_.”

It wasn’t like the wine from last year. The taste was more bitter, not as smooth going down. Though he knew better than to judge. French wine was hard to beat. 

The company had also been an added bonus. 

The two discussed small things around the trench, what areas needed to be attended to, who would take the first watch for Christmas day. There wasn’t an attack from the Russians to be expected but it never hurt to be cautious. 

“ _I heard some of the men humming today_ ,” Jörg added, smiling fondly, “ _Scattered but…_ ”

The bagpipes echoed in Horstmayer’s head. The voices carrying across the snow-covered field between their trenches. 

“ _It is a good song, I must admit,_ ” Horstmayer shrugged, taking a sip from his cup, “ _He had mentioned it was a song they grew up with at home_.”

Mackenzie seemed surprised when he had asked about the song. But the man lite up as he described it, talking about how his father had taught him and his other brother the words. He had tried to learn it on the bagpipes, but that was where his talent for the song stopped. The older man had grinned at the memory.

Horstmayer had envied at Mackenzie’s friendly disposition. There was no wonder the man had such loyalty in his men. 

“ _I had some of the champagne that the French had_ ,” Jörg continued, “ _As much as I enjoyed the beer we had that night…_ ”

Audebert had cautiously nodded when he had complimented the drink. It was to be expected. The French soldier had every right to be skeptical, as Horstmayer had been of him. It changed over the course of the night when he had presented the older lieutenant with the wallet. It was by happenstance he found it lingering in the trench. One of his men almost took it away before asking him a question regarding the address.

It was the only reason he kept it. 

The small smile on the other man’s face when he gazed down at the photograph within it had made Horstmayer glad he had kept it. 

“ _Yes, it was quite good wasn’t it?"_ he muttered, placing his cup on the table. When had his chest begun to tighten? Maybe it was the wine. 

“ _One of the best Christmas’ I’ve had_ ,” Jörg replied quietly, “ _We mostly do the same thing back at home each year. A different experience is always nice._ ”

He could picture Rue Vavin in his mind. The road wasn’t too narrow, the sidewalks lined with different shops and cafés. The buildings towered over the people walking below them, the street lamps being lite up one by one. He and Christine had walked down it many times while staying in the little hotel. 

But he pictured himself there, alone, waiting on the corner. His eyes flickering around for a familiar face, the hint of a Scottish accent. Maybe those ridiculous red pants the French wore. Any sort of sign, just to know. Would they make it? Would he make it?

“ _Yes…_ ,” Horstmayer conceded with a small smile, “ _It is nice from time to time_.”

When Jörg made to leave, he checked over Horstmayer one last time. The older man told him to rest, mentioning that he didn’t want his _oberleutant_ to look like a dead man walking the next day. He smiled at the jab, telling him that he would try. 

“ _Fröhliche Weihnachten, Jörg. I will see you in the morning_.”

The private paused, smiling after a moment, “ _Fröhliche Weihnachten Oberleutant_ ,” he nodded, making to step out when he stopped again, " _Oh! Glückliches Chanukka Oberleutant. I know it was earlier in the month, but…_ ”

The tightness in his chest returned. Trust Jörg to remember. “ _Yes, it was. But thank you_.”

When the other man left, the only noise in the room was the crackling of the fire. Horstmayer stood there, staring at the cloth separating himself from the trench. He waited to make sure that the footfalls were far enough away. 

Taking off his cap, he placed it on the table beside the empty bottle. Running his hand through his hair, he sat down on the makeshift bed he had in the bunker. The light was slowly beginning the fade, the fire slowly dying. 

Besides the letter in his coat was his wallet, which he took out gently. He opened it, his thumb tracing the photo of his wife. It was of the two of them on their honeymoon. Her smile was radiant through the photo. They had spent the day in the Luxembourg gardens, Christine pointing out each of her favorite flowers as they passed them, arm in arm. The beauty of the area was not lost on him. But her enthusiasm made him love it more. 

Slowly, his breath shaky, he slid the photo back into the side pocket of the wallet. A piece of paper was sticking out from another pocket and he pulled it out. It was rough, crinkled around the edges. The type of paper he assumed many artiest used. Yet the only thing on it was a name, with an address on the bottom. 

A promise. That night before they last saw each other, standing out on that bridge between their trenches. Creating an impossible promise to one another. 

It was funny, in a sense, how much he missed them. Even though they had only known each other for a little over twenty-four hours. It had felt like a lifetime. He could still hear Mackenzie teasing him about his use of French, Audebert laughing when the Scotsman had tried to speak in the language. Horstmayer had let out a small laugh, though he tried to mask it. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so at ease. 

The headache behind his eyes had faded to the back of his mind, the dizziness, and nausea along with it. 

Resting his back on the bunker wall, his eyes skimmed over the paper one last time before placing it back into his wallet.

“ _Gordon...Camille…_ ,” the names felt odd, it had been so long since he said them. But they felt right as well, “ _I hope to see you next Christmas Eve_.”

He would fight for the fatherland. There would be no doubt about that. But it didn’t change the bond they had formed that night. Along with promising to return to Christine, he clung to the idea of seeing the two lieutenants again. It was the only thing to keep him sane during this war. 

********

 **Verdun** \- **Christmas Eve** \- _1916_

_Dear Father,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. It seems as if this war has kept us apart since I saw you last January. The battles had been fierce but it seems we have been able to push the Germans back. Everything seems calm, though they may be trying to lull us into a false sense of security._

_Though I am not sure if that is the case. There seems to be a lack of true command here, at least the section that I have been assigned to with my men. The losses here have been great. If I am to be frank, there have been points where new men were brought under my regiment, and they didn’t seem to last the day. Not of their own fault, but by the needless actions of the men who seem to be running my sector. They are leading men the slaughter. I do not understand how they can keep calling more and more of these boys, because that is what they are, up to fight in this disastrous war. The cost has been too great._

_I do not know how I have survived for this long. There have been times when I thought my time had been up. A bullet just missing me to the right, hitting another soldier. Or an explosion far enough away where it only knocked me off my feet._

_The gas has been the worse thing of all Father. There are not enough masks for everyone and the ones that do have them, they are wearing down. I have seen the effects and it is unlike anything I had ever wished to see. How are we still fighting this war? Did you not say it would be over quickly?_

_How can I go home to Madeline and Henri like this? My hands are covered in blood. I shouldn’t be alive, there are plenty of others who should be going home. All the men I started this awful war with are dead. Thousands of others littering the fields. How can I explain to my own son what I have don-_

His hand stopped midstroke. It was trembling, from his anxiety or the anger that was coursing through him, Audebert wasn’t sure. The letter wouldn’t do at all. 

Folding the paper in half, he tore it apart piece by piece. That had been his third try. He told himself he could control his emotions when it came to writing to his father. There was no need to tell him the words that they had screamed at each other when they argued last. 

Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Deep down, he didn’t blame his father. As stubborn as the man was, he tried to do what he thought best for him. But they never saw eye to eye. 

His father was in a position that Audebert had come to loath. The men who were in positions like him didn’t care what happened on the battlefield. And if they did, they had an awful way of showing it. 

Lighting a match, he lite the wick on the candle that sat on his desk. The pieces of paper burned easily in the flame, curly upwards as the heat melted away the anger of his words.

“ _Lieutenant Audebert?"_

The older man turned slightly, waving his free hand, “ _Yes André, you can come in._ ”

Stepping into the room, the young man saluted him. The line in his slim shoulders was tense, a habit Audebert noticed in the younger soldiers. Trying to portray themselves older then what they actually were.

The idea pained him inside. 

“ _I spoke with Dr. Jean as you requested sir. Most of the men have recovered from their injuries and should be fine to rejoin the regiment_ ,” André reported, pausing briefly. Audebert watched him fidget with his hands, a trait he had noticed quickly from the younger man. It never meant good news, “ _Julien...the doctor isn’t sure he is going to make it_.”

A pit settled at the bottom on his stomach. Dread clawing on his skin. 

Julien had been in his regiment since February. The young man was resourceful, providing valuable suggestions in their means of attacking the German lines. It had helped that he knew the language, having lived in the country for a small amount of time. When they would intercept German communication, Julien was the first to volunteer his knowledge. Some of the men eyed him skeptically but Audebert paid them no mind. 

An evening before one of the battles they fought at Verdun, he had asked Julien how he came to live in Germany. The young man flushed, seemingly thinking his loyalty to the fatherland was being questioned. 

Laughing, Audebert had shaken his head, “ _No, I am just curious_.”

The tension in Julien’s shoulders had melted away. He spoke of first arriving there for some sightseeing. It had been his mother’s idea and they had traveled down the Rhine River, moving from village to village. They had stopped in a small village off the river when Julien mentioned that he had met a girl his age. 

He was smitten at first sight. Audebert recognized the look as the young man described “Anna”. The longing in his voice, fiddling with a gold band that sat on his ring finger. Newly married, pushing against any boundary this war tried to create between them. 

Audebert had thought back to trenches that were crammed with German and French soldiers, hiding together from an artillery attack. A young lieutenant standing with him, dropping his chin to fight back a small. Warm but stern auburn eyes finding his own, “ **N** ** _o merit in that. Your wife is not German_**.”

It felt like ages since he had thought of Karl Horstmayer. 

“ _How long did the doctor say?"_ Audebert asked, collecting his things around the room. Julien couldn’t be alone, he wouldn’t allow it. 

“ _H-He didn’t say, sir_ ,” André stuttered, grabbing the satchel that hung next to the door. 

Taking it, Audebert slung the strap over his shoulder, “ _Has the mail arrived today?"_

André deflated, shaking his head, “ _No sir. They said with the holiday that there would be a delay due to the influx of everything_.”

“ _Holiday?"_ He repeated absent-mindedly, shoving his books into the satchel. The clock. He couldn’t forget the clock. 

“ _Christmas Eve sir?"_

His movements froze, the information processing through his mind. Christmas Eve. It was already…?

Pushing the emotion down, he grabbed Ponchel’s clock and placed it in the satchel as well. It never left his side. Ponchel deserved that much. 

“ _Right, it must have_ …,” he trailed off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, “ _I lost track of time_.”

“ _You aren’t the only one lieutenant_ ,” André shrugged sheepishly, “ _I don’t think it’s at the forefront of everyone’s mind. With everything happening_ …”

Audebert thanked him, advising the corporal that he would come back to speak with the men later. Quickly, he trotted out of the blown-out farmhouse. It sat behind the lines, working as a makeshift headquarters. 

Pushing his way through a group of soldiers, who sneered and glared at him, he attempted to calm his racing heart. Julien would be another boy to die under his command. Another letter to write to a family back home, awaiting the safe return of their son. Their husband. He couldn’t fathom being able to get a letter through to his wife if she still lived in Germany. No letters were making it through their lines. 

_“_ **_If you like...I could get a letter to her._ ** _”_

The memory clawed at the back of his mind. Had it only been two years since they saw each other? Standing out on that bridge, discussing a cease-fire? The hope in Mackenzie’s blue eyes as they discussed it, the hesitation in Horstmayer’s face.

Were they still alive? Audebert shook his head, abandoning the thought. It would only bring him more sorrow. 

The medical tents lined the clearing as far as the eye could see. Walking alongside them, he tried to block out the cries of pain that made his skin crawl. All of these soldiers deserved to be at an actual hospital. He knew the staff was doing their best, but there weren’t enough of them. 

“ _Lieutenant Audebert?"_

He blinked, turning his head. When had he stopped walking? 

Doctor Jean stood at the entrance of the tent, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. There were traces of blood scattered on them, “ _What are you doing here son?"_

Composed. He had to be composed. There was nothing more important than appearing strong to everyone. Even if he felt himself cracking at the seams. 

“ _I was looking for corporal Benard doctor_ ,” he advised, praying his voice wouldn’t shake, “ _I was told_ …”

The doctor waved him in, eyes somber. Audebert’s heart dropped like a stone. 

“ _Yes please lieutenant. I’m afraid he won’t make it through the night_.”

Every step felt as if he was weighed down. His legs dragged, his hands clenched into fists. The quiet moans and pleas for help suffocated him. The tent smelled like death rolled over, the lingering odor of the medicines making him want to gag. 

“ _He’s awake lieutenant, but only just_ …”

When Audebert met Julien, it had shocked him how youthful he was. The young man’s upbeat attitude, even in times that were dire, made him feel light. His blue eyes shined with determination and enthusiasm, even if the matters were small. There was kindness and humor there as well that reminded him of Ponchel. The notion tugged at his heart. 

The young man who laid before him was a shell of the person Audebert knew. His skin was close to white, dark bruises under his eyes. The uniform had been mostly stripped away, his undershirt soaked in dried blood. A bandage was tightly wrapped around his thigh, blood seeping through the rags. 

“ _We can’t get his fever down...we have tried everything_ ,” the doctor paused, his hand squeezing Audebert’s shoulder in a form of comfort, “ _I’m sorry lieutenant_.”

“ _Thank you, doctor_ …” he muttered, the older man nodding before leaving him. 

Carefully, he kneeled next to the young man. With care he took Julien’s hand, squeezing it lightly. It was too common that he repeated this gesture. It was all the comfort he could provide to a denying boy. 

“ _Lieutenant...?"_

The voice, so strong days before, was only above a whisper. Blue eyes, fogged over with fever, stared at him. Haunted him. 

“ _I’m here Julien_ ,” he whispered back, a strained smile on his lips, “ _Do you knew where you are?"_

Fevered eyes watched him, the words not processing through. A small crease appeared between his brows, “ _Behind the lines...sir?"_

There was some sense of awareness. Enough to make his chest tighten. Did he know what was happening to him? That his life would end here?

“ _Yes, in the medical tent_ ,” he supplied somberly, “ _Doctor Jean has been taking care of you. He_ …”

Nothing came out. It was like he swallowed his tongue. There were no comforting words he could give Julien without feeling like a fraud. And he was a fraud wasn’t he? That’s what they called him, a misguided soul. It had been two years and still, generals sneered at him. Mocked him. He had weakened his men, they had said. No wonder so many of them died under his command, they whispered behind his back. 

A light squeeze pulled him through his sea of emotions. Dulled eyes stared back at him, “ _Lieutenant...has the mail come...yet?"_ Each word sounded painful, Julien’s breath coming out through wheezes. 

“ _No...no I’m sorry Julien, it hasn’t_.”

“ _My Anna...she said she would write_ ,” his eyelids fluttered, lips tugging upwards, “ _She_...,”

Panic crashed over Audebert. The life was fading from the young man and there was nothing he could do. “ _I will write to her...is there something you would like me to say?"_

“ _Tell her_ …,” he stopped, licking his lips. Eyebrows pinched together, “ _That...when I see her...we’ll go to Paris… as I promised_ …”

Audebert nodded, squeezing his hand. It was all he could do. He felt powerless, like when Ponchel lay dying in his arms. His friend’s teeth soaked in blood, smiling up at him. 

“ _Where would you visit in Paris?"_ He asked, voice soft with comfort. 

The question seemed lost on Julien for a moment, a shaky breath passing his lips. His skin was incredibly pale, almost like porcelain. “ _She always...wanted to visit the...Luxembourg Gardens_ …”

The faint light that lingered in his eyes faded, eyelids dropping. The small grip on Audebert’s hand disappeared. 

Control. He had to keep control. There was too much to do for him to crack here, kneeling on the ground next to another dead boy. Letters to write. Where did his family live? Where did Julien’s Anna live? 

There was so much to do. 

With care, his hand shaking, he closed the young man’s eyes. It was as if he was sleeping. But he would never wake up again.

He pulled the blanket up at Julien’s feet, covering him with it. The signal that another had passed. Too many had passed. 

The tent felt crushing, he needed to escape. With haste, he made for the exit. The crisp air bit into his skin as he passed through the tents, but he paid it no mind. He could feel something, he was alive. Not like Julien, not like his other men, not like Ponche-

Walking through the camp was a blur. He could hear men around him chattering, some laughing and singing a song. Smoke burned his nostrils, watering his eyes. There was a distant cry of his name, but he paid it no mind. He was in no mood to be around others tonight. 

Bypassing the farmhouse, his feet carried him to the edge of the land that they controlled. Darkness blanketed the area. He preferred it that way.

There was a large tree beside the farmhouse, untouched by the destruction that surrounded it. Settling against, he sat in silence. There seemed to be no end to this madness. At every turn, there was nothing but death. It felt entrenched into his bones, suffocating him. 

_“_ **_Montparnasse. It’s my wife’s favorite part of Paris. The Luxembourg Gardens._ ** _”_

He pulled the cap off his head, burying his face in it. It was all too much to bear. How could he think that promise was something that could come to pass? It was a fantasy. A delusion. They would end up like Julien, like all the others. Dying on the field of battle, alone. 

_“_ **_It’s a young man’s war._ ** _”_

Mackenzie’s words were painfully true. It was young men fighting and dying. Suffering through the battles, the trenches, the sicknesses, and the gas. 

The idea of returning home after all of this was nothing short of a dream.

He screamed, muffled by the fabric of the hat. It had become too much. The guilt, the pain, the sorrow, he had pushed it down for so long. He had to be strong for his men, he was their leader. If he broke, what good could he be? 

Pulling away from the hat, he exhaled slowly. Calming his nerves, trying to compose himself. If he broke, he wouldn’t return home. And he had to return home, for Madeline, for Henri. To know that everything could be ok.

Hands shaking, he pulled his sketchbook from his satchel. The cover was crusted with mud that lingered from the trenches. He paged to the middle of the book. Within it was the photograph of him and Madeline, embraced months before Henri’s birth. He wondered what the boy looked like now, two years since he was born. There was no return letter from the one he gave to Horstmayer. 

He hadn’t expected one but there was a small part of him that hoped. 

Tracing her face lightly, he felt himself calm down. Focus. Madeline would be there for him when he returned home. Her sweet embrace enveloping him. Playing together with his son, making up for the lost time.

His gaze shifted, looking over the page beside the picture. Written on it were two addresses, the handwriting distinctly not his. Beside each address, he had tried to sketch their faces from memory. In this war that fogged his mind, he needed to remember them. His finger ran over the names, careful not to smudge them.

The sketch of Mackenzie was rough, but it felt right to Audebert. The man was rough around the edges, the loudest of the three. There was a grin on his face, holding a pipe aloft. He had made sure to add the crow’s feet around the Scotsman’s eyes. 

Horstmayer had been trickery. The young man was hard to read, even when he brought his walls down. Trying to convey that in a drawing frustrated Audebert to no end. He decided on a different root, thinking back to the conversations they had. There was a moment where the stern expression melted away and a soft smile formed on his lips. It was fleeting but he had captured it. 

A cold sensation melted on his cheek. His fingers touched it, the water slipping down the leather glove he wore. Turning his gaze upward, snowflakes littered the night sky. 

Snow on Christmas Eve seemed fitting. 

As he made his way back to camp, he steeled himself. This war wouldn’t take him. He would live on for those who died, cherishing their memory. He would fight to return to his wife and son. 

And he would wait on Rue Vavin, hoping, praying, to see Karl and Gordon again. 

It was all he could do. 

********

 **Cambria** \- **Christmas Eve** \- _1917_

“You’re all set, sir. If anything continues to bother you, please come back and check-in.”

Mackenzie’s feet carried him out of the medical tent as fast as they humanly could move. He loathed the place. The smell rolled his stomach, the faint noise of cries of in the distance making his skin crawl. Every inch of the area unsettled him. 

He felt his shoulders slump as he let out a sigh, the tension between them disappearing. This war had made it a habit of him lingering in the area too long. With the unfortunate scars to prove it. 

A new scar cut into the palm of his right hand, tracing around his wrist and up his arm. It had been a small miracle that he still had a hand. He could still feel shrapnel that had bit into his skin, ripping it apart. His fingers twitched at the memory, a small tremble taking over. 

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned his attention to the camp around him. Things had settled over the past few days after their brief but fierce battle with the Germans. Mackenzie had thought that things were going too easily for them, pushing back the bouche to a certain point before they came back stronger than before. The trenches had to be dug again, each side only moving a few yards from where they had been before.

It was how this whole war was if he was being honest. A standstill, unlike anything he had seen before. 

Walking down into the trenches, he pulled his coat closer to him. When had it become so cold? These days were blending together. It was impossible to keep up with what time of year it was aside from the weather. They made his aching joints feel worse as if they were grinding together.

All he wanted was a moment alone in his bunker. Between the meetings, checking in on his men, and going to get looked over, his head had been spinning. Pulled in every direction. If he could just clear his head, make sense of it all, he could focus. 

And maybe remember which day it was. 

“Lieutenant Mackenzie?”

His shoulders jerked up, freezing on the spot. Why couldn’t he be left alone?

Turning, forced smile plastered on his face, he was greeted with Father Palmer. Though he supposed he shouldn’t call him “Father”. The older man had told him he left the church after what occurred in 1914. But it suited the other man, who watched him with somber eyes. 

“Padre, what can I help you with?” He asked with ease, yearning for the bunker only steps away. 

“The boys wanted to know if you would be joining us for Christmas Eve dinner tonight,” he replied, chuckling with a shrug, “If you want to call what they give us ‘dinner’ that is anyway.”

Christmas Eve. Was it that time already? Where had the time gone? 

“I don’t see why not. Are the boys over by the left flank still?”

Palmer nodded, his gaze flickering up and down. Looking over him. The older man was too observant, “Yes sir, they discussed moving us but they haven’t done so yet.”

Mackenzie nodded, “Then I’ll meet you there later.”

The former priest watched him for another moment, it felt longer to Mackenzie, then smiled and retreated down the parkway. With relief, he sighed. If he stood up a minute longer, he was sure he would fall apart at the seams. 

Flicking the cloth over the bunker’s entrance, he pulled off his coat and hat and laid them over the table. It was mostly covered in papers that he had no interest in reading. The cot he had toward the back of the area was a mess, but he didn’t care. It was his sanctuary. 

Laying down on it, lumpy and uncomfortable as it was, he felt the tension roll off his body. He closed his eyes. 

_It would only be for a few minutes_ , he thought to himself. Just so he could rest. To escape this war, even if it was for a short period of time. 

******

Darkness settled over the trenches, scattered lights lingering from small makeshift fires. Not big enough for a target for the enemy across no man’s land, but enough to keep the small troops on alert warm. It was one of the little chances they could take on this night. None of the soldiers seemed to be in the mood for an attack on Christmas Eve. 

Mackenzie sat in his bunker, raking his hand through his short hair. He had joined his regiment earlier, digging into the food that was collected from the food carts further back in the line. It was laughable to call what they provided them with as “food”, but they had grown used to bland meat and potatoes that were handed out. 

Beer wasn’t normally provided, many of the higher-ups turning their noses up to the soldiers indulge in such drink. The notion was hypocritical if Mackenzie was to be honest. There had been a number of times that he would be in a captain’s or general’s bunker or office where liquor lingered off to the sides. Mocking him in a silent manner. 

He took another swing of his beer, the taste burning his throat. It lingered in his mouth, much to his chagrin, and he spat on the ground. Things truly were awful if even the beer couldn’t bring up his mood. 

The men had been in higher spirits, though he imagined the beer had been a factor in that. They chatted amongst themselves, telling tales of home and memories far gone. Nothing that involved the war. It was a reality that they wished, for one night, to forget. 

He could feel his chest tightening with longing as the men’s voices flowed over him. His injured hand had started to tremble, though he tried to play it off with placing it on his bouncing knee. After a few moments, one of the soldiers mentioning their daughter’s and their Christmas tradition, he stood up with a practiced smile and excused himself for the night. There were plans for him to review, he had explained, and he would speak with them tomorrow.

It was a poor excuse. Mackenzie could see it in their eyes, but most of the men understood. 

Hiding away in his bunker wasn’t the best strategy. Was it wrong for him to have time to himself? There wasn’t much time for it in between the fighting, planning, the meetings, checking their supplies…

A rapping on wood broke him from his thoughts. With a brief, but rough, rub of his eyes, Mackenzie glared at the entrance of his bunker. Whoever was beyond the cloth covering the entrance, they didn’t seem to understand the unspoken words of “do not disturb”.

“Who is it?” He called out, placing his bottle down beside him. If it was Captain Smith, the could give two shits if the older man scolded him for drinking while on duty. 

“Palmer, sir.”

Maybe God did have a sense of humor. 

For a moment, he thought about sending the older man away. He was comfortable in his silence, with the far-away memories of his wife and daughter’s being the only comfort he needed. But they also brought pain along with them. The yearning that he had before, burrowing itself into the fabric of his soul. 

No, having someone with him on this night was better than no one at all. 

“Come in Padre,” he invited warmly, saluting Palmer as he brushed past the cloth entrance, “Was there something you needed?”

The older man fixed him with a look, his eyebrow arched slightly. Mackenzie hated it when he looked at him like that. Palmer seemed to have gained the ability to read him better than any of his other men. 

“You seemed troubled when you left the men earlier sir,” the explanation was blunt, the former priest taking up the additional chair beside the table, “I thought…,” he paused, hands sitting together in his lap, “I thought it best to check in with you.”

Mackenzie tapped his finger on the table, a frown on his face. Damn the man for knowing him so well. There was no mask that could be thrown up to get past Palmer, no matter how hard he tried. 

A small sense of relief tugged on his mind. The older man was someone he could trust. He, more than anyone else in this camp, understood Mackenzie. 

“The boys speaking of home…,” he shrugged, unsure of how to express the emotion, “It’s hard to listen to. Not their fault, but still…”

“It isn’t uncommon to long for home lieutenant,” Palmer replied, his watchful gaze warm. A hint of a smile tugged on his lips, “Especially with the holiday. It would shock me if the men weren’t feeling some sort of homesickness.”

“No, I suppose you’re right…”

How many years had the war gone on now? It all blended together. Each day melting into the next, turning into weeks, then months...then years. Years it had been since he arrived on the front, the ideas of glory filling the minds of the men under his care. Himself too. It would be a lie if he said that the idea of going to war gave him a small surge of excitement. It wasn’t as if his life was dull. But the stories that his grandfather would tell him filled him with certain ideas of how fighting for one’s country would be. 

Those ideas shattered those first months in 1914. Dying for one’s country, which had seemed so noble and exhilarating at the time, now seemed to be the sentence of all the young men available. Mackenzie saw it each time new regiments were brought in, to replace the thousands that were lost in a matter of hours. Young men brought to slaughter. 

A memory crossed his mind, back what seemed like a lifetime ago. On a snowy field, with men from opposing sides laughing and cheer as a football was kicked across an imaginary goal line. Sitting beside Camille Renee Audebert, he would never forget the other man - he couldn’t allow himself to, discussing the very same concept. What had he said to the French lieutenant? 

**_“It’s a young man’s war.”_ **

How funny, it had been early on in the war when he said that. It was sad. How would things be, after the war? If all the younger men were sent to fight and never came back home? The idea caused him many sleepless nights. 

“It seems like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it lieutenant?”

Pulled from his tumbling thoughts, Mackenzie’s brows pinched together, “I’m sorry Padre, what did you say?”

The other man brushed it off, “Lost in your thoughts?”

Heat rushed to his face, “It’s been happening a lot lately…” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck, “But what were you saying, I’m sorry I wasn’t…”

“It is not a problem,” Palmer waved off his concern with a small smile. Leaning back in his chair, the former priest crossed his arms over his chest. Warmth settled over his blue eyes, “I was reminiscing about a service I performed on Christmas Eve a few years ago. It seems much longer than that.”

Palmer was a clever man, Mackenize couldn’t deny that. Those days in 1914 were frowned upon by many. So much of an uttering of it would draw the ire of certain generals and higher-ups. Most of the soldiers didn’t understand, though it was before their time. A majority of the men who experienced those peaceful days were buried in the ground. The notion of losing them left him sick. 

“I think I remember it,” He replied happily, finger tapping the table, “The crowd seemed to enjoy it.”

“They did, didn’t they?” The former priest chuckled, “I find myself thinking a lot about that time on this day...what happened there one of the more memorable experiences in my life.”

“It is a nice memory to hold onto,” Mackenzie admitted. The image of trees lining the German trenches was one he wouldn’t forget, “Better than most of the ones from this war I imagine.”

Palmer laughed lightly, a somberness settling over him. His lips pursed, “It’s becoming harder to remember their faces…” 

Fear gripped Mackenzie. The thought of losing those precious moments kept him awake at times. He would force himself to remember the details. The sadness in Camille’s eyes at the mentioning of his wife the first night they spoke on the bridge. The strong grip of Karl’s hand in his as the young German lieutenant left their trenches with his men. Standing atop the mounds of dirt, hand lifted in the air as his men trickled back their side of the field. Would he forget these things?

It wasn’t a reality he wished to live in if he did.

“If you need help with remembering them…,” his voice, faint, trailed off. The hand on the table had clenched into a fist, “I can help.”

“Thank you sir, but there is no need,” Palmer reassured with a wave, “It’s the feeling of the memory...I can lose everything else, but the feeling will always be there.”

Mackenzie watched him, unsure of how to respond. The man had a knack for leaving him speechless. After a moment, he nodded. 

Sitting together for what may have been hours, they reminisced. Not only on that Christmas Eve night but on their families at home as well. Ridiculous childhood stories that Mackenzie had mostly kept to himself found their way out, laughter filling with the tales. 

It was odd to him the type of comradery he felt with Palmer. He chalked it up to many things over the years. A man who understood the tough position Mackenzie was in after the Christmas truce. A priest, not unlike his own that was in his village back in Scotland. In some way, a father figure that had been absent for most of his life. But sitting together with the man, he pushed passed those notions and saw him for what he was. A friend. 

It was as simple as that. 

“Do you remember,” Palmer snickered, though he tried to hold it back, “When you were challenged to a little football match?”

Embarrassment rushed over Mackenzie, heat coloring his cheeks. He was sure that his ears were red too, “Please don’t, I try not to.”

“I must say, sir, the amount of confidence you had was impressive,” the older man pressed on, a gleam in his eye, “You seemed confident that you could beat…”

“Karl,” Mackenzie supplied, shaking his head, “I should have known better.”

“Knocked you right on your arse Karl did,” Palmer grinned. 

Mackenzie should have taken Camille’s warning look into more consideration when he challenged the young German lieutenant. At the time, it seemed like a simple task. He didn’t take Horstmayer as the type to kick around the ball, too strict, and with that no-nonsense attitude he had. The young man eyed him carefully when Mackenzie declared he could beat him in a one on one match. 

His second mistake was to take the stoic expression of Karl Horstmayer for granted. Those deep brown eyes flashed with a dangerous determination. 

Shedding their coats, Mackenzie had called for the ball. A silence settled over the other soldiers, watching the two of them take to the center of the makeshift field. He had noticed one of the German soldiers grinning, elbowing the man beside him and whispering in his ear. They shared a knowing look. 

Mackenzie’s third mistake. 

He wasn’t sure how he ended up on his back, looking up at the sky. Laughter mixed with cheers as he heard the sound of Karl easily kicking the ball past the imaginary goal line. Camille was fighting back a smile, a losing battle, when he crossed into his line of sight. The Frenchmen held out his hand.

“I tried to warn you,” he teased, accent heavy on the words. 

There was no outwardly boasting from the German, who greeted him with a short nod. But it was hard to not seem it shining his eyes, a smirk tugging on his lips. 

Mackenzie shook his head at the memory, the small laugh shared between the three floating away. That feeling that Palmer described lingered in his chest, a mixture of warmth and sadness. How he wished to see the two of them again. 

“I do hope they are still alive,” he muttered, folding his hands together on his lap, “I had promised to see them when this was all over.”

“Oh?” Palmer’s eyebrow piqued at that, “How would you…?”

“Camille would write to us,” Mackenzie clarified with a shrug, “It was a silly idea we came up with together…”

“Doesn’t seem silly to me,” the older man countered.

It was beyond silly. The very notion of the idea was a dream. The war proved that much. More and more men died each day. How could he expect himself, much less Karl and Camille, to survive this hellscape? 

Yet he found himself clinging to the idea that he would see them again. He couldn’t picture the street, Paris was a city he had never had the chance to visit, but he could see the two of them. Standing beside one another, speaking in French with ease that Mackenzie envied. Happy, he would hope, to see him as they were able to meet once again. 

“No,” Mackenzie replied softly, smiling at the thought, “I guess not.”

The idea of meeting together filled him with a feeling of hope. It was all he could ask for in a time such as this. 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations and other things: 
> 
> Oberleutnant - The highest lieutenant officer rank in the German armed forces
> 
> Wer est der idiot…? - Who is the idiot...?
> 
> Danke - Thank you
> 
> Merci beaucoup - Thank you so much
> 
> Batman - So a batman is basically an "aide de camp" but they are for lesser officers, aide de camps are usually for higher-ranked officers
> 
> S'il vous plaît - Please
> 
> Bonne chance - Good luck
> 
> Toi aussi - You too


End file.
